


Special Occasions

by gwennolmarie



Series: In The Event of Regretful Actions [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Corporal Punishment, Drabble, Forgiveness, Gen, Gift Exchange, Idiots, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, and very much regretted, it's only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 11:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: Sometimes reconciliation is unspoken.





	Special Occasions

“I hardly remember… How we celebrated,” Arthur murmurs, staring down at the red-ribbon-tied box in his hands.

“Well, we ain’t paid much attention to it over the years since we got you,” Dutch rubs the meat of his thumb over his chin awkwardly, “But… Circumstance and special occasions, I suppose.”

Arthur nods, presses his lips together.

Doesn’t move to open the present.

“What’s wrong?” Dutch frowns, shifts where he’s leaning against his desk.

“I… I didn’t get you anything,” Arthur’s voice is soft and sad.

“That’s…” Dutch thinks about the tension between them. Arthur had been acting a fool, and one of their horses had died as a result, Dutch had been…

Harsh.

“It’s fine,” The older man says stiffly.

Arthur doesn’t meet his eyes, hasn’t all week, has retreated…

Staying out of the way, following every order or suggestion to a tittle.

The younger man disappearing every dusk, coming back at dawn with cash and food, carrying the camp practically on his own shoulders.

Arthur pulls the ribbon free, clutches it in spare fingers while he unfolds the box.

There are a few things in the box. Arthur moves to set it on the desk next to Dutch so he can pull out the items.

A smaller box with a cherry embossed on the top, which he sets to the side.

He moves the paper and the softness that meets his fingers startles him. He curiously picks up the limp, leather good and discovers it’s a glove, finds its twin deeper in the paper.

He presses his lips together, hard, and glances up at Dutch at his side, who’s looking at the ground.

“I don’t… Dutch, these are too…” Arthur rubs the brown leather between his fingers.

It’s fine, the finest he’s ever felt, soft and luxurious and…

Too much.

Dutch makes a dismissive noise and pinches one of Arthur’s wrists, holding the younger’s hand up between them. Forcing attention to the broken skin in the crook of each knuckle, between his thumb and index, and on the fleshy bits of his palm, below each finger.

“They’ll keep you from getting more blisters,” Dutch says.

It’s the most he’s touched Arthur since…

The bruise on Arthur’s cheek thrums with an aching heat as he thinks about it.

“I need ‘em though…” Arthur says, confused, “Enough times and it’ll build those calluses, right?”

“Arthur, you keep ripping your skin off like that and you’ll be downed by a goddamn infection,” Dutch says roughly, gripping the younger’s wrist a little tighter, between index, middle and thumb.

Arthur swallows harshly, squeezes the gloves in his other hand.

“Sorry…” The younger whispers.

Dutch knows it’s not about the blisters.

The older sighs heavily and glances heavenward before letting Arthur’s wrist go.

“I don’t want an apology, Arthur, I want you to have learned your lesson.”

Arthur nods and hesitantly moves to set the gloves down and pick up the smaller box.

Once he gets it open he smells the chocolate and liqueur immediately.

“Oh…” He says softly, carefully picks up one of the four chocolate-covered, liqueur-soaked cherries.

“Know that rabid sweet tooth of yours has been starving,” Dutch says, gentle and fond.

“Thank you,” Arthur sets the box down and picks up another of the confections.

Holds it out to Dutch.

Finally meets the older man’s eyes.

Dutch takes the offering and mimicks toasting by gently knocking his chocolate against Arthur’s.

Arthur’s lips twitch into a smile.

They eat their treats in comfortable silence. Dutch crosses his arms and legs, leaning back again.

Arthur carefully tries on the gloves after wiping his hands on his pants.

“Thank you, Dutch,” Arthur murmurs, “Really,” He says as he wiggles his fingers and flexes his hands in and out of fists.

Dutch is blindsided when the younger man hugs him, Arthur burying his nose into Dutch’s neck.

He holds his boy tenderly, tightly, tries to exude both his forgiveness and his contrition through the touch.

“Merry Christmas,” Dutch murmurs.

Arthur echoes him.

\--

Arthur leaves again as soon as the sun is set.

The hope that Arthur would stop working himself half to death fizzles out.

  
When he wakes the next morning there’s a box, right near his head, a scraggly string tied in a messy knot binding it closed.

He has his suspicions on who it’s from.

Inside is a bottle of his favorite brandy and a bottle of sapphire blue ink for his fountain pen.

His suspicion on the sender is confirmed by the drawing in the bottom of the box.

It’s a drawing of Dutch, smiling to the side at someone not pictured.

It’s an older drawing, based on Dutch’s lack of facial hair in it, the edges a little softened, slightly wrinkled, like it’s been handled often.

Dutch finds a spare frame later that day, sets the picture on his desk.

Finds it a bit vain, to have a picture of just himself.

But it’s not the subject.

It’s the artist. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. 
> 
> Love you guys,  
> Gwen
> 
> p.s. if you know what other fic was referenced in this, bless ye, and have a virtual cherry cordial


End file.
